Christmas Miracle
by WeAreTomorrow
Summary: Glee/Glee Project. Cameron just wanted to get Damian the perfect Christmas present. Who could've guessed that it would end up like this? Dameron slash. CHAPTER 2 UP.
1. Teaser

Just a teaser so far.

Been wanting to write a happier piece for these two. And what's happier than Christmas, hot chocolate and mistletoe?

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><p>…<em>and all the good boys and girls…<em>

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><p>There is nothing like Christmas.<p>

Absolutely nothing.

You could combine all the Halloween candy in the world, New Year's fireworks and even his birthday and it still has nothing on Christmas.

White and cold, the snowflakes clinging to his eyelashes and making his breathe curl like smoke in the air. Cameron chuckles, the sound humming deep inside his chest and watches with a child's delight as it takes shape, wispy like clouds.

_You laugh like the clouds, baby, taking me higher…_

Cameron sings softly, strumming a made up tune. He smiles crookedly.

Not half bad.

It's always been like that. Christmas is the season of giving and getting and taking chances because the year is almost over and who knows? Christmas is music.

And if there's one thing Cameron knows, it's music.

The other? Damian.

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><p><em>...they'll get everything they want...<em>

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><p>What do you think? More?<p> 


	2. Chapter 1

So, this story is kind of a parallel to Damn Implications. A kind of 'what if'.

What if Cameron's parents had loved each other a little bit more?

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><p>…<em>you and I met, all accidentally on purpose…<em>

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><p>Damian McGinty.<p>

Cameron strums another chord, fumbling slightly through the thickness of his gloved fingers.

If he's were completely, one hundred percent honest-a dangerous concept, to be sure-than maybe he would admit that he knew more about Damian than the term 'friendship' strictly implied.

Not that that it means anything.

Cameron tries to throw himself head over heels, a hundred percent into everything he does. Into his music, his girlfriend, his _best friend_.

(And, yeah, definitely dangerous.)

He made a promise once, you know? His father, looking ten years older with his white skin almost translucent, grabs his arm, fingers stronger than they look. It's simple, stubborn willpower.

Everyone expected his dad to have a heart attack. He was just that kind of guy.

He had a stroke instead.

_Stubborn son of a bitch_, his mom had cursed, her usually perfectly curled hair, streaked with gray, pulled back into a messy bun.

Seventeen-year-old Cameron shifts awkwardly behind her, taking comfort in the smell of her perfume and the look on her face. The one where she's not sure if she wants to hit Dad or kiss him.

Instead, she runs a finger over the weathered skin on his face and looks at him with so much_ love_ that Cameron turns away.

Because he's not meant to see and, okay, it's his _parents_.

(Don't think about the fact that's he's second oldest of five.)

The hospital room is white on white on gray when Cameron arrives. He is second, after Mom, of course, the first one that she calls from school since Diana is away at college. The house felt so empty.

Cameron had been trying desperately to copy a friend's math homework before lunch ended, hand cramping, and cursing the way he learned from Dad when his football team lost.

They always lost.

Cameron and the younger kids would gather round the TV and look up at him with laughter, scoring his insults on a scale of one to epic, as they got more and more creative.

It's one of those childhood memories that are so crystal clear. The smell of something cooking. Mom standing in the kitchen doorway, shaking her head, that look on her face. Danny, the youngest, sucking his thumb, curled up in his lap. The background noise of TV and the sense of belonging, of family.

(Sometimes he suspects that his dad does it on purpose. Lose.)

He strums his guitar again, a minor chord.

HIs mom had called him, heart breaking over the phone. Cameron was at the hospital less than twenty minutes later. He's not quite sure how.

It's a blur.

Fields of amber grain and clutching the steering wheel so hard he doesn't stop to change the station when Spencer Pratt comes on.

(God bless America.)

So, anyway, he's the first.

White, white, gray and the red ketchup stain on his shirt he only now notices.

They linger like that for a long time. His mom's hand on his father's face, drinking it in like this is the last time. It could be.

Eventually she draws herself up, tenderness not gone but tucked away for later.

That's always how she's been. She's always been the one that pushes, that keeps things together because she does what she has to when no one else is strong enough. A southern lady, born and bred.

She goes outside and calls the rest of her children.

Suddenly, it's just Cameron and his dad. He ducks his head slightly because he's seventeen and really, are there words for something like this? Probably not. Not that Dad is much of a talker, when it comes down to it.

So, he isn't expecting what comes next.

His dad places his hand on his shoulder, a comforting weight.

"Son," he says in a grave voice, which more than anything makes Cameron realize just how serious this is. His dad is never serious.

"Cameron."

He leans in and realizes with a jolt just how far his dad's hairline has receded.

"Promise me something."

Not a question. Cameron nods anyway.

"You live your life as if it the world will stop spinning tomorrow. Don't ever hold back, because you're scared, because you're tired. Do it all. Take every chance."

His dad looks toward the door, his mom's muffled voice, calm and soothing, seeping under the door. There's a crooked little smile on his face, eyes soft and Cameron feels the urge to look away again.

(His dad wanted to name him Houston, you know.)

The grip on his arm tightens.

"Fall in love. As hard as you can."

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><p>…<em>on a Saturday morning…<em>

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><p>So updates should be more regular but also shorter than other stories.<p>

What do you think of this Cameron's history?

Also: yes, Damian will finally make an appearance. Gosh, what I have planned for these two.


	3. Chapter 2

It's so... joyous. And so hard to write.

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><p>…<em>let's pretend I'm a liar, would you be my truth…<em>

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><p>The slam of a car door makes him look up.<p>

"Cameron."

Damian says his name with a grin.

(Please don't stop.)

"Cameron, Cameron, _Cameron_."

Sometimes it's like the boy can read minds. God, what a scary thought. Cameron stands and slings his guitar across his back, wide grin already forming through numb lips. He realizes with a sudden violent shiver that it's _cold_.

"What are ya' doing out here dressed like _that_?"

Damian's voice is warm and exasperated, rolling his blue eyes.

Cameron looks down as himself with mild surprise. He's wearing a thin cardigan and his favorite pair of skinny jeans. He could swear he grabbed a jacket but, honestly sometimes when the guitar strings run through his hands like water, he forgets everything else.

Sheepish brown and amused blue.

Cameron opens his mouth to complain that he's not _that_ bad and shivers again instead. His guitar strikes a discordant note against his back.

"Idiot," Damian says fondly, "Come here, I'll warm you up."

Before Cameron has time to laugh and tell him how dirty that sounds, make a joke and loosen the tightening in his throat, Damian steps forward.

(Close, too close, not enough.)

He closes his eyes without realizing it and just lets the feeling of Damian's arms snaking around his waist sink in.

(Calm down, calm down, this doesn't mean anything.)

Letting go of tension he wasn't even aware of, Cameron relaxes. Melts a little against the chest of his best friend and wishes his girlfriend felt this warm. Damian radiates heat like a sun, what with his blinding smile and sky blue eyes.

If Damian is the sun, what does that make him?

He's distracted by the feel of Damian's cold nose brushing the side of his face. He pulls back a little bit, the other boy's hands tightening reflexively on the back of his shirt.

For a moment, everything is still.

For a moment, there is nothing between them but the curling cloud of pretty white breath filling a space that is much, much smaller than it should be. Cameron can't really quite bring himself to care. To pull away.

(For a moment there is only _them_. No pretending.)

A car horn shatters the silence.

That's the thing about moments, you know? They're not made to last.

Cameron is already turning, heading toward the car, impatient Lindsay no doubt in the front seat drumming her nails against the steering wheel to the tune of _Don't Stop Believing_.

He swears sometimes, that girl is Glee personified. It's terrifying, actually.

She deserved to win.

Besides, a record deal collaboration with Damian was more than he'd ever dreamed of hoping for. Sometimes he looks at his life and can't believe it.

(Is this _really_ his fucking life, right now?)

Cameron turns away, too fast, his grin hanging maybe a little crooked, and barely catches something flash across Damian's face. He turns back but it's gone.

Damian's face is open and warm as he slings an arm over Cameron's shoulder.

"Come on, princess. Let's get you somewhere warm."

"Haha. Ha."

Cameron huffs a little, trying to go for insulted and misses spectacularly, landing somewhere near _pleased_. God, it's not like nicknames _mean_ anything. The comfortable weight on his shoulders feels wonderfully familiar. They approach the car and Damian opens the door for him with a dramatic gentleman's sweep of his hand and a heartbreaking smile.

He slides into the backseat and wonders if it's always so easy.

Do you just find that one person and know? Does it click like a lock when it opens to the right key?

He's talking about best friends, of course.

(Of course.)

Lindsay smirks at them in the rearview mirror, something devious in her eyes that puts Cameron on edge. The weight of Damian's arm suddenly seems much heavier. She just shakes her head and pulls out of the parking lot.

"Took you long enough."

He blushes, without knowing why.

Damian just grins back easily, the way he does everything. Charming and carefree and the sight of it makes something in his chest hurt. It makes him think of cotton candy and snow angels and burning edge of something he can't quite put his finger on.

"Had to unfreeze Cam here from the bench."

The feeling slips away slightly, not gone, never. But manageable.

"Oh yeah. My hero."

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><p>…<em>turn me inside out, make me want to choose…<em>

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><p>Have you seen the pictures of Damian and Cameron (sharing) a large cotton candy? Let me just say say this:<p>

Told you so.

XD


	4. Chapter 4

Hey guys…

I've decided to do a bit of spring-cleaning.

I'm going to take down all of my works for the month of May and edit them. Not only will I fix all those annoying grammar mistakes but there will be new chapters and sections added, especially for longer pieces such as _Damn Implications_.

I'm going to try to find a way to re-upload without losing all my amazing reviews but please author alert me just in case.

See you on June 1st!


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